


Don't touch me

by lostwithoutmyanchor (mysourwolf)



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Blood, Light Description of Violence, M/M, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Pre-Slash, Season/Series 03, Touch Aversion, Wounds
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-11-12
Updated: 2018-11-12
Packaged: 2019-08-22 16:30:07
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,258
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16601531
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mysourwolf/pseuds/lostwithoutmyanchor
Summary: Ever since Gerard, Stiles doesn't like to be touched. It takes him getting injured before anyone notices.For the prompt: "Don't touch me."





	Don't touch me

Ever since Gerard, Stiles doesn’t like to be touched. He isn’t sure why. There had been dominance and helplessness and it is hard to not think back to it every time someone comes close to him. And as much as Stiles tries to deny it to himself, the _incident_ , as he has started to call it, had been traumatic. So, in all logic, when he is too tired to lie to himself, Stiles supposes that he has PTSD or at least is experiencing symptoms related to it. And it’s fucking exhausting!

He hugs his dad. He has to force himself but his dad needs hugs. That’s it, though. Everyone else needs to stay far away. The worst part is how easy it is. He hardly sees Scott by himself these days and when they all meet up his so-called best friend is too busy to notice Stiles much. Everyone else ignores him mostly and the ones that don’t, like Jackson and occasionally Isaac, only touch him to shove him out of their way. 

There are a few difficult moments but Stiles handles it. Only at one such moment, with his old friend Heather on her birthday, Stiles can't turn away quickly enough. Thankfully, after a quick, wet kiss he manages to turn her down gently. But afterwards he has to hide in the bathroom for an hour, trying to stave off a panic attack. 

So, he really tries to stay out of people’s way and it works just fine. And when he feels Peter’s curious eyes watching him sometimes, he doesn’t let it mean anything.

But then there’s an Alpha pack and everyone is in danger _again_. They have their first, big fight and Scott wants him to stay away but he doesn’t. He can’t.

Of course he gets hurt. He swings his bat at one of the twins who has his claws hooked in Scott’s side. The other twin rushes forward and throws Stiles against a the wall. It wouldn’t be so bad, he’s used to bruises. But there is a piece of metal sticking out and it cuts a long gash into the skin on Stiles’s back. He cries out and crumbles to the floor but nobody hears him. It’s loud and there’s a lot going on.

By the time he has dragged himself up, leaning heavily on his bat, it’s over. The big guy from the Alpha pack got badly injured and the others hustled him out quickly. 

Allison rushes to Scott’s bleeding side from who knows where she has been hiding, already talking about taking him back to his place to stitch him up.

Derek seems to be dying and Stiles is worried but Peter just orders the betas to lift him up and carry him out to his car. 

Then for some reason Peter is suddenly next to Stiles, reaching out to touch his shoulder. 

“Stiles,” he begins, the tips of his fingers brushing Stiles’s hoody. But Stiles twists out of his way, hissing sharply when the movement strains his injury.

“Don’t touch me,” he shouts, his nerves frayed. He sees a flash of hurt flicker over Peter’s face and feels sick to his stomach. Especially when Peter lifts his hands in surrender and takes a step back. 

The small act of kindness is too much and Stiles can’t breathe. He stumbles sideways to the exit, keeping his back turned away from Peter for some reason. Ignoring the betas, Stiles grits his teeths and heaves himself into his jeep, pulling into the streets with shaking hands.

~~~

When he finally sits on the bathroom floor, stripped down to his boxer shorts, it’s much later. It has taken him ages to get home, out of the car, into the house, up the stairs and out of his clothes. Stiles’s back is straight. He wants to curl up and cry but it hurts too much to bend the wound. So, he only cries. He can’t turn enough to clean out the wound with disinfectant but he knows cleaning it under a stream of running water will hurt like hell and he doesn’t feel up to that just yet. 

He even contemplates just sleeping if off, risking an infection but decides it’s not worth it. If his dad somehow finds out there will be hell to pay by enduring the disappointed looks.

When a quiet knock sounds from the door, Stiles startles, jostling the wound. He has to close his eyes and take deep breaths. Eventually he calms down a bit and when he looks back at Peter he asks harshly, “What do you want?”

“Checking up on you,” Peter replies, forgoing his usual antics.

“What about Derek?”

“He’s patched-up as much as possible. The betas are watching him. I even managed to convince them that touch will help him heal.”

Stiles grimaces at the thought and turns his head away. “I’m fine,” he mumbles even though he knows it sounds ridiculous, giving his current appearance.

To Peter’s credit, he doesn’t laugh or even snort. He just steps closer and sits on the edge of the bathtub, right behind Stiles. “I’m here to help you, Stiles,” he says gently.

Stiles is silents for a long time but eventually he says, “I don’t want you to touch me.“

“I know,” Peter replies calmly. 

Resigned, Stiles lets out a long breath and closes his eyes again They both know, he has no choice. “There’s first aid stuff under the sink.”

He hears Peter getting up, washing his hands and rummage around in the cabinet before sitting back down behind him. “I’m going to clean the wound now,” he states, his voice soft and gentle.

Even like this it hurts a lot and Stiles starts crying again but Peter doesn’t stop. When the wound is clean, Stiles feels Peter pushing the skin together to apply butterfly bandages and he hisses at the sensation.

“Unfortunately I can’t take your pain while I’m working,” Peter states, sounding tense for some reason.

“‘S fine,” Stiles replies through his gritted teeth and Peter keeps working. 

Eventually he applies the last bandage, covering everything with light gauze, to keep it clean. Then he starts cleaning the rest of Stiles’s back with a sponge he must’ve taken from the sink. “Is this okay?” he asks cautiously.

And for some reason, it is. Maybe because he isn’t touching Stiles directly. Actually, it feels quite nice. The thought makes Stiles frown. How can anything feel nice right now? Belatedly, he realizes that Peter is draining his pain. The faintest touch against Stiles's shoulder. “You don’t have to-” he starts but Peter interrupts him. 

“I’m not a monster, Stiles,” he says, his voice flat. It makes Stiles’s heart clench.

“I know that,” he whispers. Maybe Peter believes him, maybe not, but he doesn’t say anything after that. Eventually he puts the sponge to the side and stands up. 

When he has managed to stand up himself, Stiles realizes how tired he is. He jawns wide and follows Peter into his room, carefully crawling on his bed. Pressing his face into his pillow, he feels Peter pull the duvet over his legs, up to his ass. 

“Thanks, Peter,” he mumbles sleepily. 

“Anytime.” The reply comes from right next to him and it feels comforting to have Peter close, knowing that he won’t be touching Stiles without prompting. But he knows Peter. Knows that they will be talking about this. And maybe, somehow, Peter can even help him. But for now Stiles is thankful that Peter just lets him sleep.

FIN

**Author's Note:**

> I'm not an expert on ptsd or first aid. This is all from my own experience, so please don't flame me if something is wrong.


End file.
